Page 48 of The Hollywood Billionaire's Fangirl Wife

I did.

Why didn't You just let me die?

Because it wasn't your time, and to let you die would mean not having you with me after this world.

Stop acting like You give a shit about me.

I have loved you even before you were born.

You really expect me to believe that? How can You say You love me when You were never around? Where were You in all the times I needed You?

I was always by your side.

The voice inside Guy's mind was gentle and deep. Powerful and eternal. And so infinitely tender in His mercy and compassion as His Father guided him to see the truth.

You just didn’t want to look My way until now.

Chapter Seventeen

Jack:Sorry, I can't make it today.

Jilly:Why?

Jack:Because I have friends now.

I DON’T THINK IT’Sworking, God.

But I already know what you’re going to say.

Proverbs 3:5-6 was His Father’s answer, and it always made Guy want to wince, every time he thought of how his list of memorized verses had ballooned from negative-three to forty-three real quick, and all because of good old-fashioned heartbreak.

I just miss her, God.

Badly.

And while he knew, since Jillian’s love for God was real, divorce was out of the question for her, what if this was already God’s plan? Married but living separate lives, for reasons that might only be known to Him?

The thought made Guy cold inside. He jammed the mop into the industrial bucket with unnecessary force. Dirty water splashed upward in a violent arc that caught him square in the face. Grimy liquid trickled past his lips, the taste of disinfectant and institutional food mixing on his tongue like an ominous previewof what his future would taste like if God were to ask him to live a life without her.

Guy worked around scattered walkers and abandoned wheelchairs in Second Wind’s dining hall, mopping around the evidence of the evening meal. Mashed potatoes were ground into the linoleum tiles. Pureed carrots splattered under tables. Coffee stains had already set into permanent brown shadows. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead while somewhere down the hallway, a call button chimed insistently.

Riiing.

Guy nearly dropped his phone in his haste to yank it out of his uniform pocket, setting the mop against a food-stained wall as he answered the call without even bothering to check the name on the screen.

“Hello?”

"It's just me, sorry."

“Ah, Valerian.” Guy did his best to mask his disappointment. “It’s fine.”

Valerian appreciated Guy’s efforts not to hurt his feelings, even if he failed miserably at it, and this considering how Guy was an award-winning actor at that.

“I just called to update you.”

Guy stiffened, his free hand gripping the mop handle as residents shuffled past him in their evening migration toward the television room. "How is she?" It had been fifty-four days, four hours, and three minutes since he had last seen his wife.

“Poppy and I visited her yesterday. She and your babies are all doing great. I’ve also checked in with Josiah. Spoke to the contractor as well, and the renovation is moving on schedule.”

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